


All Messed Up (Even Though Our Love Is Doomed)

by Sashataakheru



Series: The Ballad of Prince Alex and King Greg: A Royal AU [1]
Category: Set the Thames on Fire (2015), Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Age Play, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, CHARACTER DEATH SPOILERS, Community: seasonofkink, Costumes, Crossdressing, Cuddling, D/s, Held Down, Imagination, M/M, Master/Servant, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Slapping, Sorry Not Sorry, Spoilers, Storytelling, a lot of swearing, boot licking, dickie is a dom do not @ me, drug references, noel fielding makes everything weird, prostutition, weird headcanon is weird sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 16:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15953504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: Dickie wants to tell Greg a story.





	All Messed Up (Even Though Our Love Is Doomed)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'roleplay' for Season of Kink 2018. My card and prompts are [here](https://3evilmuses.dreamwidth.org/82357.html).
> 
> The first time I rewatched _Set The Thames On Fire_ after I’d got into _Taskmaster_ did some weird things to my head tbh, bc I kept seeing Greg in the Impresario and it all got a bit weird, and Noel though it would be too boring to write him fucking Greg like a regular person and nicked roleplay so I could write Dickie instead. It is what it is.

Greg wasn’t sure what to make of Noel standing before him. Noel said he was doing something special for him, but wouldn’t say what. He’d wanted to surprise him. Greg was certainly surprised.  
  
“Dickie wants to tell you a story,” Noel said as he leaned suggestively against the doorframe, watching Greg take in his outfit. Knee-high silver boots, fishnets, a ridiculous codpiece, a short frilly cream dress that barely went below his hips, a string of plastic pearls around his neck, latex gloves, weirdly androgynous make-up, a large round crystal earing on one ear, and his blond stringy hair tied up in two bunches. A broken toy clock hung around his neck, and what looked like a toy camera was slung over one shoulder. It had been a while since he’d worn this, but he felt Dickie settle in his mind as soon as he’d finished putting it all on. Dickie wanted to play.  
  
“Does he now? What kind of story does Dickie want to tell me?” Greg said, intrigued. He was definitely not averse to Noel’s weirdness, his queerness. There was just something about the coy look in his eyes, and how he made almost any outfit look like it was made for him.  
  
“You’ll find out. Move. Dickie hasn’t got all night, you prick,” Noel said.  
  
Noel walked towards him, shoving him aside, and Greg had to admit, he’d never really understood Noel. He confused him. Sometimes, he thought there was something utterly magical about him, as if he was some sort of otherworldly nymph, but then he could watch him kick a football around with considerable skill and he just seemed like an ordinary lad with strange fashion sense. He was obscene, weird, an abstraction he didn’t understand, and Greg couldn’t help being drawn to him anyway. And now, he’d been drawn into this roleplay, and he wasn’t going to say no, because he was sure sex with Noel would be unlike anything he could imagine, and he wanted to experience that at least once in his life.  
  
“Go on, hands and knees. Dickie wants to see what you’re made of,” Dickie said.  
  
Greg obeyed, curious to see where this would lead. He’d never considered Noel to be a natural Dom, but that’s what Dickie clearly was. Greg could sense it. The sharp heel digging into his back also helped. He kept his head down, hearing nothing except what he assumed was the camera making tinny noises. Whether they were taking real photos or not, he couldn’t guess.  
  
“I think you know what comes next, right, bitch? You’re going to lick my boots, and if you do it well enough, maybe I’ll fuck you, I don’t know yet. I don’t like bitches who fight back. I like bitches who do as they’re told,” Dickie said.  
  
Boot-licking, Jesus Christ. Greg hadn’t done that in years. It had stopped being his thing once he became more of a top than a bottom. But he was hardly going to disobey, because no one had Dommed him like this in a very long time, and he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it. He let Dickie’s foot press him down and he got to work, glad he had never found this at all disgusting. He’d never licked silver boots, though. That was definitely different. They weren’t made from thick leather, and he could feel Dickie’s foot inside them.  
  
Dickie took his foot off his back, grasped the back of his collar, and pulled him to his knees when he was bored of it. Greg couldn’t read the expression on his face, though he got the sense Dickie wasn’t happy with how tall he was. Even on his knees, Greg was still very tall. Dickie gave him a bruising kiss before he slapped the back of his head.  
  
“Go on, get on that bed, you pathetic fuck. Dickie wants to play with you,” Dickie said, gesturing towards the bedroom.  
  
Greg almost went to stand, but thought better of it as Dickie’s fingers grasped his shoulder tightly.  
  
“Knees, bitch. That way I’m still taller than you,” Dickie said.  
  
“As you wish, sir,” Greg said and did as he was told. He made his way to his bed and climbed up, finding a comfortable spot as he watched Dickie observing him from the doorway, eyeing him like a predator.  
  
Greg knew that look. It was always a little dangerous when your Dom looked at you like that, but Greg was certain he could overpower him if it came down to it, so he didn’t let it bother him too much. But it did remind him to be submissive, because the last thing he wanted was to hurt Noel.  
  
Dickie, on the other hand, was nothing like Noel. He oozed domination from every pore. It was in the way he walked, and how he looked at Greg, and the way he climbed onto the bed and crawled over to him, with all the wild dangerous sexuality he brought with him. Greg was enthralled. Dickie climbed on top of him and pinned him down, staring at him as if he was trying to establish dominance, to see if Greg was going to fight him.  
  
“Right, you prick, what’s going to happen is Dickie’s going to tell you a story, and you’re going to listen, you hear? Dickie’s gonna fuck you, and then maybe Dickie might let you fuck him, alright, if you listen properly like a good little boy, yeah? And you’re going to be blindfolded, because Dickie can’t stand to look at your eyes right now, because you look too much like him, and he doesn’t like that, you fat fuck. Now, are you going to fight me, or am I going to have a good little boy tonight?” Dickie said, looking at him with nothing but contempt.  
  
Noel had warned him Dickie wasn’t nice, but Greg hadn’t been prepared for the anger in his voice, nor how strong he seemed to be. Greg hadn’t been pinned down this well for a while, and he was surprised Noel was even capable of it, given how small and weedy he seemed to be. Still, he could recognise a Dom when he was demanding obedience, and Greg wasn’t going to fight him. Noel had warned him about that, too. Dickie might be a slut, but he wasn’t a pushover. He was used to being obeyed.  
  
“Answer me, bitch. Are you going to be good tonight?” Dickie said, losing patience with him as he grasped his shirt collar and stared into his eyes.  
  
Greg raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll be good, I promise, Dickie. I won’t fight you.”  
  
“Good. Now, get your kit off and I’ll blindfold you. Then Dickie can tell you his story,” Dickie said.  
  
“Right away, sir,” Greg said.  
  
Dickie moved off him, and stared at him as he undressed. Dickie threw his clothes on the ground, as if he was disgusted with them, and once Greg was naked, moved over to him and tied a blindfold around his head, making sure he couldn’t see.  
  
The next thing Greg was aware of was Dickie sitting in his lap, facing him, his hands beginning to caress him as he kissed him. Then Dickie’s voice was in his ear, calmer, softer, more measured, and all he could do was hold on and listen as he began telling his story, in between kisses, and licking stripes down his cheeks.  
  
“This story hasn’t happened yet. It takes place in a different world, where the Thames floods, and millions die. It’s a world where everything is wet and damp and foggy. It rains all the time. Thousands died after the flooding from toxic mould that crept into the soft things, the walls, the ceilings, and the people themselves. Everyone suffered. A few ransacked the city and stole its wealth, then held the survivors to ransom. Some escaped. Some drowned. Some were too stuck to leave,” Dickie said.  
  
“Like you? Were you too stuck to leave?” Greg said, aware that Dickie’s hands were moving lower down his chest.  
  
Dickie let his guard down as the memories clearly hit him, and he clung to Greg, as if he was upset and trying not to cry. “I didn’t – I was just so alone – I don’t even remember who I was before the floods. Who am I?”  
  
“What happened to you?” Greg said, holding him close. He wondered if perhaps the blindfold wasn’t so Dickie didn’t have to look at him, but so that he wasn’t able to see how upset Dickie was.  
  
“Everything happened to me. It killed me. I know how I die. I know how he dies. It’s a world of darkness and pain. But there was, for a brief moment, a time when he loved me. But the worst torture in the world is watching someone rot from within, to destroy themselves out of greed and ego and pain. That’s how he dies,” Dickie said.  
  
“Who was he? A prince?” Greg asked.  
  
Dickie didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled Greg into a furious kiss, and slowly pushed him down onto his back with his strength and dominance. Greg held him, and they kissed, and Dickie stroked his cock, and Greg forgot about the story for a while because Dickie was so very good with his hands. The blindfold just intensified everything, and he could only imagine what he was doing as he felt his hands working him. He’d never been with someone who knew what they were doing quite like Dickie did. And then his mouth closed over his cock, and Greg just could not think at all. And then Dickie pulled away before Greg was ready, but he didn’t complain because Dickie slapped his leg hard.    
  
“Right, roll over, bitch, Dickie wants to fuck you good, and then, if he likes you, maybe he’ll let you fuck him back, yeah? Go on, move!” Dickie said.  
  
Greg did as he was told, rolling over onto his stomach. He felt Dickie lie on top of him, his fingers clearly beginning to prep him while his weight pressed down on him, keeping him in place. Dickie had little patience for a long, slow fuck, and Greg had been prepared for rough sex, which he rarely had a chance to indulge in. The way Dickie’s fingers were working him and lubing him up told him he’d done this a thousand times before, that he could do this without even thinking. It was all mechanical, he didn’t need to pay attention to what he was doing. Now, he’d never fucked someone like that before.  
  
“I was just a slut to him. That’s all I was ever good for. The only power I had over him was that I could calm him down by singing him little kiddie songs. He was a child stuck in the body of a powerful adult, and it destroyed him,” Dickie said.  
  
“Did he fuck you?” Greg said.  
  
“He tried, the impotent prick, but more often I fucked him. He just fucked my face instead, and I pretended to enjoy it. Besides, he had plenty of women he could wear out instead. I was more valuable to him as a slut, not as his lover. But that happened to them all in the end. Everyone he slept with ended up in a room with a red light outside it. It was just a matter how long it took before he was bored with you. The only reason I never stayed there permanently was because I was the only one he trusted to keep everyone else away from him. I was like his servant, his valet, taking care of a paranoid king who was sure everyone was out to get him. I was the one dragging him down from his suite to attend the parties he’d told me to organise for him, even though when he got there, all he did was get drunk and tell everyone there how much he hated them. I was the only one who could calm him, so I got a reprieve, before he sent me down to my den to fuck the night away again. Over and over and over again. The coke was the only thing that kept me going. It helped me forget. But I got really good at sex, and now it’s all I know how to do. I don’t know how to do anything else. And now you get to see just how good I am, and I can add you to the thousands of pricks I’ve slept with for no good reason other than he got bored of me,” Dickie said.  
  
Greg almost went to reply, but Dickie was clearly done with prepping him, and didn’t waste any time pushing inside him. His cock was bigger than he’d expected, but it did feel good, and Dickie pinned his back down with his hands as he began thrusting.  
  
“Fuck, you’re so tall. I hate fucking giants like you, you can never really do anything interesting with them. You’d better be thankful I like your cock, or I’d be fucken outta here,” Dickie complained, continuing to fuck him nonetheless.  
  
Greg let it slide, because it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about his height. Dickie was fucking him good, too, he was very much enjoying the way he was moving, and how much pleasure he was giving him. It’d been a long time since he’d been fucked by someone who knew how to fuck well, and he craved it more than he was expecting. For once, he didn’t have to teach someone what to do. Dickie just knew, and Dickie fucked him hard.  
  
“Move yer hips up, I need a better angle, you fuck,” Dickie said, slapping his thigh rather more forcefully than he expected.  
  
Greg shifted, letting Dickie move him where he wanted him, before he started thrusting again, and somehow, it all felt even more incredible than it had before. Dickie was holding on to him, and fucking him as if his life depended on it. All Greg could hear was their thighs slapping together, and Dickie’s rough breathing, but that didn’t matter, because god, he was so turned on. He didn’t even have to touch his cock, and to be fair, neither did Dickie, but those hands still strayed between his legs, as if he needed Greg to be hard as well.  
  
“He thought he was fucking invincible. He had all the money. He kicked the heads in of anyone who pissed him off. There were so few of us, and the water had drowned any resistance we might have had left. Instead of trying to rebuild the city, he got old and fat and diseased, just like we all did. Like fucking Dorian Gray, but in reverse, cos I was the fucking portrait in the attic. I think that’s why he hated me in the end. He got old. I didn’t. And if it wasn’t for those two fucking boys who stole money from him, I might’ve lived a bit longer. Instead, he threw me out a window. I never got to see him die. But I heard about it. Those two boys survived, while he tore himself apart. What a fucking waste. All of it. What a fucking waste,” Dickie said.  
  
Greg felt Dickie’s fingers dig into his skin then, as if the anger and sadness was getting the better of him, but it didn’t slow him down at all. If anything, he fucked him a bit harder, taking out his anger on him instead. Someone else might’ve complained, or not found it arousing, but Greg loved his intensity, even though a small part of him wanted to scoop him up in his arms and take care of him. Dickie was just the kind of boy he loved, the kind of boy who needed to be loved. But he was sure Dickie would never let him in. Dickie’s heart had died a long time ago.  
  
If he was expecting anything more than a quick fuck, he was mistaken. It was a good fuck, it had definitely been worth it. But it was over sooner than he expected, and Dickie finished him off before he pulled away. Dickie seemed oddly quiet as he lay down beside Greg, staring at the ceiling. Greg removed the blindfold, and turned to look at him, and wondered if he should say something.  
  
“Why’d you tell me that story, Dickie?” Greg asked after a while, when he felt Noel might actually answer him.  
  
Dickie shrugged against the pillow. “I guess I just felt you needed to know. Just in case.”  
  
“Why would I need to know that? Is it a warning?” Greg said.  
  
Dickie sat up and moved away, looking like he wanted to leave. “It’s just a story. A fairy tale drowned in sorrows. Take it or leave it. I don’t really give a fuck.”  
  
Greg sat up and watched him dress. The dominance was gone now. Nothing remained except Noel standing there, searching for something.  
  
“I fucking hate him, man. He’s always so fucking intense. Sorry you had to see him like that. He normally doesn’t get emotional,” Noel said, a hint of sadness in his voice.  
  
“You alright, Noel? You need a cuddle? Cos I’m not letting you go until I know you’re alright,” Greg said.  
  
Noel glanced at him, thought a moment, and climbed back onto the bed, letting Greg bring him into his arms.  
  
“I wish he’d met you before he met him. Maybe he’d have been alright,” Noel said.  
  
Greg didn’t really know how to respond to that, but kissed his head, and held him close, and if he sang him lullabies and silly songs to calm him, and make him feel better, well, so be it, because a part of his mind couldn’t help wondering what all of that had been about, and what it really meant for him. He was always drawn in by stories, and this one resonated in deeply uncomfortable ways, even if he didn’t understand why. He was sure he wasn’t like that. But it still felt like a warning. He just didn’t know why. He was sure he’d be up all night thinking about it while Noel slept in his bed, oblivious to what he’d done to him.

* * *

"Alex?"  
  
"Yes, Greg?"  
  
"Never forget that I love you. Whatever happens, never forget that."  
  
"I won't. I love you too, sir. Goodnight, sir."  
  
"Goodnight, Alex."  
  
Greg set his phone down and gazed outside. Alex had never sounded so far away.


End file.
